Flight
by All Galimatias
Summary: The angel's eyes did not belie the rest of his beauty. But angel's eyes should be calm and wise. These eyes were furious, over spilling with anger, and scared. Fear, almost hidden beneath layers of rage, freezing Alfred's heart and making it like stone.
1. Chapter 1

_This story has been heavily edited- if you've been reading it since I first published it, I'd recommend rereading it so it makes sense. On that note, if you have stayed with this story for so long, thank you, and I hope it was worth the wait for it to be complete. Newcomers, please enjoy!  
><em>

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><p><em>J'espère qu'au ciel<em>

_Des diables malins coupent au anges leurs ailes_

_Pour que tu retombes du ciel_

_Dans mes bras ouverts_

_Cadeau providentiel_

* * *

><p>"So what's this about?" Alfred asked as Francis let him into his house looking around for anything that might be a clue as to why he'd been invited over.<p>

The Frenchman gave him a secretive smile, but his excitement was tangible. "I have something to show you," he said.

The spacious hallway was meticulously kept, the sort of room that silently threatened you into automatically pressing off your shoes at the heel with your toes and then feel embarrassed over the state of your socks.

Alfred swept his shoes into a corner with the side of his foot and padded after Francis, the latter hurrying through the doorway to his kitchen. As soon as he did so, Alfred built up a bit of speed and then skidded across the polished wooden floor after him, past a creamy-white sculpture of a naked angel with her arms out stretched.

"Where are we going, dude? I just took off my shoes," he complained as he hit the tiles of the kitchen and followed Francis through the maze of shining counter tops and kitchen utensils to the back door.

"I didn't ask you too," Francis pointed out dismissively. "And it's only a metre's walk."

The sky was a uniform grey. The clouds wasn't so threatening rain, as lazily comment on the fact it was going to happen at some point, but they weren't going to hurry it. Alfred shivered slightly in the cold air and tried to dismiss the feeling that something was wrong, watching Francis move to a second door at the side of the house. His companion pulled the door open, revealing a set of stone steps that lead down into darkness.

"Dude, if this is another one of your creepy techniques…" Alfred trailed off, looking cautiously between Francis and the cellar steps.

Francis laughed easily, shaking his head. "I promise it is not. After you," he said with a sweeping gesture. Obligingly, Alfred started down the cold steps, hands groping for a nonexistent light switch for the first few steps. He gave it up, one hand going to the wooden hand-rail and eyes trying to adjust to the darkness.

He heard Francis follow behind him and kept walking down into the darkness, a shudder running through his leg and almost tripping him up when the ground levelled out. Waiting for his host, Alfred kept one hand against the wall instinctively as he tried to see into the blackness. He could hear something moving.

Somewhere behind him, a light flicked on and Alfred blinked as his eyes readjusted to take in the room. Francis' triumphant French- _et voila- _met his ears just as he gasped.

The room it's self was as expensively gorgeous as the rest of Francis' house. He'd inherited money from somewhere, and his family was wealthy in any case. His basement was no exception, the carpet rich once you left the steps, the walls lavish with pretty things, and the room well lit, if lacking in natural light. But the value of the room disintegrated, the world paled, in the wake of its centrepiece.

An angel was the simplest description. The wings, they were the first part you saw, they drew the eyes like a magnet. Fluid and delicate, balanced with an air of extreme power and fluidity, a stunning mix of every colour, pale and dancing, blended into white. They looked soft and enticing, begging to be touched, and faded seamlessly into flawless skin at the shoulders of the young man in the cage, who was just a beautiful as his wings. Pale skin that was without imperfection, elegant arms that led to elegant hands that were loosely interlocked by his ankles to keep his knees against in his chest. The soles of his feet looked as if they'd never met the hardness of the earth, not ever known a day's work of walking. The angel's hair was golden and too short enough to meet his chin but long enough to look just cover the upper part of his eyes.

That was the only part of him that Alfred thought, in the distant part of his mind that was still thinking and not overcome with wonder, was not fitting the conventional image of angels. The angel's eyes did not belie the rest of his beauty; rather, they were an entrancing combination of greens, swirling in a mix that was almost hypnotic. But angel's eyes should be calm, wise and loving. These eyes were furious, over spilling with anger. Fear was there too, almost hidden beneath layers of rage, freezing Alfred's heart and making it like stone.

The angel was gagged by piece of tape, wings scrunched up behind him, bent feathers sticking through the metal bars at his back. The intricate metal cage hung near the back of the room, in the middle of the ceiling, suspended by a thick golden chain pretending to be a rope. It was a fancy piece of craftsmanship, rather exquisite, and the beauty of it sent a spasm of hollowness into Alfred's core, and chilling him.

His mouth remained open, eyes wide as Francis prowled up next to him.

"Fascinating, isn't he," Francis commented, watching his stunned reaction with satisfaction.

Alfred nodded in mute agreement, eyes fixed on the beautiful creature in the cage, well aware that the forest-green eyes were watching him too.

"I had to tape his mouth," Francis said, sounding disappointed. "He was making such a fuss."

Alfred registered for the first time the extent to the creature's imprisonment. Aside from the tape and cage, his ankles and wrists were chained so they couldn't move further than a few centimetres in any direction. The only limbs not hampered were the wings, but the cage was too small to allow them to stretch out, keeping them bunched uncomfortably behind their owner.

Francis followed Alfred's gaze to the creature's captured hands and under their twin gazes one hand fisted and turned towards them. The angels' middle finger came up slowly and deliberately. When Alfred glanced back up to the creatures face, even without being able to see his mouth Alfred could tell the creature was smirking.

Letting out an amused huff, Francis shook his head. "Far more pleasant company silenced even so, I'm sure you'll understand."

Still speechless, Alfred only nodded, bewitched by the unspeakable sadness that came as a combination between the anger and fright in the angel's eyes.

"Do you want something to eat?" Francis said conversationally, pleased with Alfred's awed reaction. "I have drinks and things upstairs…?" he offered, as if there wasn't another in the rom.

The normality of the offer coaxed back Alfred's tongue. "That sounds good," he agreed, tearing his eyes from the imprisoned angel.

Francis led him back up the stairs but Alfred's mind stayed in the basement, watching the young man with stupefied absorption.

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><p>"Where the heck did you get him from?"<p>

"Ask me no questions, Alfred, I'll tell you no lies."

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><p>After they'd eaten, Alfred asked to see the angel again. Francis had told him that there were things he needed to be doing, but gave the American an indulgent smile and said he could go down alone, if he wished.<p>

The second trip down the steps was no easier, possibly it was worse. A mixture of excitement and dread resided in the place where his confused curiosity had been before, making him feel almost ill.

He unconsciously dismissed the feeling as he reached the basement, turning to the wall and groping for the light. The room became illuminated and Alfred looked in the direction of the cage. As if he had been expecting Alfred's return, the angel's eyes unerringly met his, expression still as smooth, fierce and beautiful as before.

"Hi," Alfred said softly, moving forward cautiously. He was met with a dark glare before the creature pointedly looked away. Frowning, Alfred walked a bit closer. "I'm Alfred Jones."

"You okay?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say. The angel's eyes snapped back to his and a sharp motion sent all the chains clanging, the sound loud and unsettling in the otherwise silent room.

"Huh. I guess you have a point," Alfred said weakly. "Sorry."

Not acknowledging the apology, the skin of the angel's face around the tape moved furiously, either trying to speak despite the obstacle or attempting to remove it.

"Do you want me to get it off?" Alfred asked and when the angel froze he smiled, sensing an opportunity.

He reached the cage and lifted one hand to rest against the bars. The angel eyed him apprehensively, slowly lowering his face down to be level with the hand. Alfred poked his thumb and forefinger between the bars, a few centimetre's apart; all he was able to.

"Just try and catch the tape between my nails," he suggested in what he hoped was a friendly voice. "And I'll hold onto it."

Expression promising retribution if anything happened that the angel did not like, he slowly moved forward to Alfred's finger tips. The angel's skin touched Alfred's, and felt exactly as he'd imagined. The yielding expanse of the angel's cheek met Alfred's fingertips and he instinctively moved them to stroke the soft skin. With an angered noise muffled by the tape, the angel sprung away, pressing itself against the other side of the cage, giving Alfred a disgusted look.

"Sorry!" Alfred said quickly, retracting his hand and cursing his slip. "I wasn't thinking!"

A muted snarl was the angel's response.

"I'm sorry," Alfred repeated, putting his fingers back through the bars. "I won't do it again, I'm really sorry."

The angel looked unconvinced, but reluctantly crept forward for a second time. This time Alfred kept completely still until he felt the material of the tape, pinching it between his nails. The angel moved back, wincing as the tape came away to reveal the angel's lips, reddened by the removal of the tape, tiny cuts splitting the skin.

The angel jerked away from Alfred, gasping as air once again was allowed to be sucked into his mouth, bringing his face down to his chained hands so he could use his fingers to delicately massage his sore cheeks and mouth.

"Better?" Alfred said with a smile.

"Yes," the angel replied shortly. The voice fitted the rest of him perfectly, smooth and charming.

"Do I get a thanks?"

"Not when it was your friend who's trapped me," the angel snapped voice icy and contemptuous.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't do anything," Alfred replied, apologetic and indignant at the same time. "All I've done-"

"Is come to watch me like an animal in a zoo," was the harsh interruption. The angel turned back to him, and something changed in the green eyes. As if a light had gone on. Alfred fought the urge to fidget as the angels gaze ran over him, simultaneously trying to squash his confusion.

The angel spoke again, voice more amiable, slightly ashamed. "That was uncalled for," he admitted quietly.

"A bit," Alfred agreed his relief evident.

Something had shifted in the angel's demeanour, his body language. He moved towards Alfred without his previous caution, forehead leaning against the metal bars near to where the man's fingers still lingered, heedless of his arms being pulled uncomfortably behind him.

"Thank you for taking off the tape," the angel said lowly, and Alfred leant forward slightly to listen.

"No problem," he replied "It's what heroes do."

The angel's lips curved up into a smile. "Naturally you're a hero."

"Of course!" Alfred agreed; glad to meet someone who shared this sentiment, sky blue eyes locking with the angel's.

"Does that make me the damsel?" the angel asked, and Alfred frowned slightly, though his pleased grin still lingered.

"Nah, you're a guy," he said with a shake of his head. "But you were still in distress, so it counts."

The angel nodded agreeably and his head moved towards Alfred's fingertips, subtly enough that Alfred didn't realise he was doing so till he felt the gentle pressure against his fingers.

He gave them a confused look, his gaze slipping down to meet the angel's eyes. They looked back at him, innocent but inviting. As he watched the angel tilted his head up, revealing the pale spread of his neck, to brush Alfred's fingertips with his lips.

"You don't think you could open the cage?" he asked softly, his breath playing against Alfred's fingers.

"I-"

"Please?" the angel pressed, tone sweet and pleading. All Alfred's awareness seemed focused on the proximity of the angel's mouth and hiss lingering fingers, and the feeling of the other teeth gently scraping against the sensitive flesh on the pads of his fingers.

Alfred's hand went to the cage lock, turning the key that had been left there. The angel let out a pleased sigh, closing his eyes briefly before looking at his chained feet.

"Liberate me?" he asked tantalisingly, honing on Alfred's love for heroics with infallible accuracy.

The same key fitted the locks around the angel's ankles. The angel anxiously pushed his wrists towards Alfred, desperation to be free making him squirm and rock the cage. His fingertips ghosted against the frame of Alfred's face and the man's eyes slipped briefly closed, opening again when the angel spoke.

"What's your name?" he asked, eyes locked on Alfred's hands as they freed his right hand.

"Alfred," Alfred replied with a smile, thrilled by the look the angel gave him when the green eyes flicked up from his left wrist.

"Alfred," the angel echoed, the name rolling delicately off his tongue and making Alfred shiver.

The final lock clicked open and the angel rubbed his free wrists tenderly, not looking at Alfred.

"My name's Arthur. You have my thanks."

Alfred didn't have chance to respond before there was an explosion of movement. The angel shot out of the cage, knocking Alfred to the ground but landing gracefully on his own feet. Arthur stretched out his arms, wings unfurling to reveal their true majesty, but the motion made Arthur wince and his legs buckle, sending him to the floor.

"Bugger it," the angel groaned, hands going to the beautiful feathers and cringing as he touched them. "Pins and needles, it would be wouldn't it."

Alfred looked at him blankly, twigging slowly to the fact he'd been duped, and got to his feet. "What?"

"Stay there!" Arthur said quickly, struggling back up right and then blanching, probably due to the stiffness in his limbs. "Don't move!"

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked blankly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Arthur responded agitatedly, swaying on his feet. "I'm trying to escape from the bastard who locked me in a cage." He legs gave out again and he was only saved from hitting the floor because Alfred darted forward to catch him.

"Get off," the angel ordered. "Let go of me, now!"

"You'll fall over again if I do," Alfred pointed out reasonably, arm slipping down to hook itself beneath the angel's legs while the other awkwardly kept his body upright around his wings.

"Don't put me back in the cage, don't you dare!" Arthur hissed, twisting in Alfred's grip as he tried to free himself, the fear in his voice obvious.

"Calm down," Alfred said soothingly. "I won't, I promise I won't, I wouldn't," he said reassuringly, bringing the angel closer to him.

"I don't believe you," Arthur said, frantically struggling in Alfred's arms.

"You have to trust me, or you're not going to be able to get out," Alfred said coaxingly, trying to get the angel to relax. "I promise I won't put you in any cage, I'm going to help you get out. I'm a hero, remember, heroes keep their promises."

Arthur stopped twisting in his arms, through acceptance or lack of energy to fight, Alfred wasn't sure.

"Okay, cool. Just hang tight for a bit, okay?" Alfred said, crouching down to lower Arthur to the ground. The angel shoved himself backwards, away from Alfred, all lean legs and sweeping wings. Arranging himself into a defensive sort of crouch, Arthur levelled Alfred the sort of scrutiny that pinned butterflies to Styrofoam display boards.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything," Alfred said, backing up a little bit to give the angel more space, but sitting in front of the door so the angel couldn't bolt. He considered what he'd just said, then blurted out; "I want to get you out of Francis' house."

The angel almost imperceptibly flinched, but brushed it off with a flex of his wings.

"Why?"

Alfred felt his face morph into an expression of confusion. "Don't you want to get out?"

"Of course," the angel said, irate and passionate.

"Well, then it's okay to want to get you out, isn't it?"

"…Yes."

Alfred grinned. "Then we're good," he said, getting to his feet and offering his hand to Arthur. A part of his mind not happily swept up in heroics or miserably contemplative of the real situation wondered how on earth he was going to not explain this to the man upstairs.

The angel grudgingly took the extended hand, and then waited. After a few seconds Alfred understood. He didn't have the strength to get up. For a moment his mind froze, and then he gently pulled Arthur to his feet and back up into his arms, ignoring the angel's repeated protests.

Carefully keeping the angel from getting jolted, Alfred navigated his way up the stairs. Arthur was light, despite the fact that by all rights he should have been heavier than average because of his wings. Alfred was momentarily distracted by the soft feathers pressing against the bare skin of his neck, but contained his shiver and ignored them. It was impossible that the angel should have been this light, this skinny.

"Has Francis been feeding you at all?" he murmured to himself but the angel replied, voice soft and bitter.

"Only when he remembered. Not enough." A beat later and in a voice so soft it was almost non-existent; "I'm so tired."

Alfred's grip tightened minutely, protectively, and he delicately opened the door out of the basement without dropping the angel.

Both of them winced as they came in contact with the still chilling wind, and despite Arthur moving to try and put his bare feet on the ground, Alfred kept carrying him.

"You can't try to fly in this, can you?" Alfred guessed, looking up at the grey and windy sky. "Not when you're as weak as you are."

"I am not weak," the angel snapped, but he did not argue.

"You can come back to my house," Alfred suggested tentatively, aware that at any moment Francis might come and find him running off with his new pet.

"No, I will not go from one prison to another," Arthur protested, renewing his attempts to get out of Alfred's arms.

"I won't keep you prisoner," Alfred said hastily, faltering as he walked, uncertain on whether or not he should put Arthur down. "You can stay at my house until you're healthy enough to fly, and then you can go where ever you like, okay?"

Suspicion rolled of the angel in waves, but Alfred could sense his reluctant acceptance. Really, Arthur didn't have any other choice but to agree to help, even if he did not fully trust it. The thought made Alfred feel guilty, even as he tried to say the right thing.

"Fine," the angel said unwillingly and Alfred smiled, naively reassured.

Arthur's feet briefly met the jagged stones that made up Francis' drive, but the angel pulled himself into the back of the car, glaring at Alfred's attempts to help. Alfred paused, looking up at Francis' house. Should he tell Francis that he was leaving?

"Wait here, okay? I'll only be a minute," he said to Arthur, who was watching him guardedly.

Alfred went back up to the house. Rather than walking straight through the hallway, this time Alfred paused at the stairs, surveying the room. The stone angel he'd walked past earlier looked back, its expression in his mind's eye silently beseeching. All up the stairs, images of angels looked out of the walls. When Alfred had been here previously, the decoration hadn't seemed so… obtrusive. So gruesome. It was a hobby, of Francis', collecting angel's, one that he'd had as long as Alfred had known him. If took on a whole new, darker, meaning as the painting at the top of the stairs regarded him with emerald green eyes, contained in its canvas.

"I've got to go home," Alfred announced as he crashed into Francis' study in what he hoped was his usual manner, putting on his very best reluctant-but-cheerful-voice. "The lady opposite says the people on the floor above set fire to their apartment."

"What?" Francis said, startled, spinning away from his desk in his black leather chair.

"Yep. They broke the fire escape ladders as well. She said one's gone through my bedroom window. How cool is that?"

"_What_?"

Alfred wondered briefly, grin on his face, if Francis was surprised over what had happened or that it had been deemed cool.

"Yeah, I know. So I have to go home and sort it out because she says it's going to rain and all my comics are in my bedroom."

"How terrible for you."

"Knew you'd understand," Alfred beamed. "Thanks for the food."

"It's a long drive back," Francis pointed out, getting to his feet. "And it's late. Are you sure you don't want to stay the night and drive back tomorrow morning?"

Alfred looked at him. "Francis. Comic books. Also, my bed. Could you cope with your bed getting rained on?"

Francis laughed. "Sure, sure, just make sure you don't crash on your way home." He made to leave the room, presumably to wave him off, but Alfred waved a nervous hand about aimlessly.

"It's fine, I know how to get out."

"We'll have to rain check for another time," Francis said, waving his protest away. "If you don't mind making a return trip?"

Alfred crashed through Francis' friendly politeness obliviously, "Yep, sure, I'll call you about it after I've sorted out the fire escape thing." He quickly left the room, tension winning out as he tried not to full out run down the stairs.

"Bye," he called back over his shoulder, and then he fled back down the drive, gripped with the sudden realisation that Arthur might have gone.

The angel looked at him emotionlessly through the car window, curled up on the back seat and looking more than a little feline. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped into the driver's seat.

"Well, I don't think that looked too suspicious," he said cheerfully.

The angel didn't say anything, but Alfred could almost hear his accented voice recounting his flailing run down the drive in the most sarcastic manner possible.

"We're good to go," he said with a reassuring grin, ignoring the look he got in return for his optimism. He backed the car out into the road and started away, watching Arthur turn to look out the back window in his rear-view mirror. The angel's expression momentarily softened into pure relief, the thrill of escape unguarded on his face. Arthur turned to catch Alfred's gaze in the mirror and offered him an honest smile, unlike the seductive ones he'd given in the basement, or the icy glares he'd conveyed in every other moment. Alfred gave him an accomplished grin in response. The angel's smile faded, and Arthur twisted to lie down along the full length of the seats, his wings encasing him in a feathery cocoon.

Alfred sighed, and looked away.


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out the drive to Francis' had taken more out of him than Alfred had anticipated. After a few hours, he started considering the intelligence of his panicked absconding. Half-wishing he'd waited and thought of a better plan of escape, Alfred was wondering if he should pull over and nap for a half an hour when the angel on his back seat had told him in no uncertain terms to stop at the next service station to get some sleep before he crashed, or at least some energy drinks.

Alfred had almost argued on principle before hearing Arthur's stomach rumble. Laughing as the angel flushed with annoyance and embarrassment, Alfred had dutifully obeyed. Arthur had sent Alfred into the service station with a mental list of food he wanted, waiting in the mostly empty car park with his wings concealed behind one of the blankets that had been on the backseat.

Of course, Alfred didn't get any of the food asked for, returning with what could be summed up as a lot of sugar. The angel rolled his eyes at the mountain of junk food that a grinning Alfred brought back, but didn't comment. However, when he took the hot drink offered he took one sip before pulling an overdramatically disgusted face.

Alfred watched with faint amusement from where he was leaning against the steering wheel, knees propped up in front of him and blowing into his own drink, as Arthur's perfect nails prised the plastic lid from the cup to look at the brown liquid.

"You got coffee?" he said, sounding utterly horrified.

"You don't like coffee?" Alfred responded, equally horrified.

The angel levelled him with a pitying glare. "I should have expected as such."

"Hey!" protested Alfred. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Tea," Arthur said instead of answering, wings moving agitatedly beneath his blanket. Alfred was momentarily distracted, watching white feathers flutter at the edges of the dark fabric. When he tuned back in a few seconds later, Arthur hadn't noticed his preoccupation. "I asked for tea. If you couldn't find anything else, you should have still have gotten tea."

"Dude. It's not that big a deal."

"I will go in there myself," Arthur threatened, forcing the rejected disposable cup into Alfred's free hand.

"You will not."

"Won't I?"

"No!"

"You're right, I won't, you're going to."

The discussion concluded with Alfred drinking two coffees and Arthur sipping at a cup of watery tea as if it was relaxation liquidated and then heated up. The angel's eyes were closed, and his whole body loose as he cupped the drink in his hands. Alfred would have been complaining, but he did get two coffees out of it and the angel's utter satisfaction made his whole body feel lighter. Arthur's attitude to him had improved in direct correspondence to the distance they got from Francis' house.

"How come you are such a limey?" Alfred asked about half way through his coffee.

Arthur eyes opened, and Alfred felt a stab of regret before his curiosity won out and he looked on expectantly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Alfred balanced the two half empty coffee cups on his dashboard, leaning forwards. "You just did it again."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur said, raising an eyebrow as he lowered his drink, leaning back in response.

"You. Being a limey. Even though you're not really."

"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Britishness."

Arthur looked at him blankly, brow crinkling up in confusion. "I fail to see your point."

"I mean, you aren't really British, are you? Or English, or whatever."

"I suppose not…"

"But you act like it. You speak like it." He pointed a finger accusingly at the drink in the angel's hands, "You drink like it."

Arthur's face closed up.

"None of your business," he said shortly, closing his eyes again, all softness gone from his features.

Frowning, Alfred leant back and grabbed one of the coffee cups before leaning forward again and taking a serious sip.

He poked Arthur's leg. The angel's limb jerked up, Arthur scrambling to the other side of the car before Alfred had a chance to pull his hand back, eyes wide and panicked. Alfred froze, watching the angel to see what would happen next, trying to convey as little of his shock and as much of his apology as he could without moving. Arthur visibly forced himself to loosen, taking another sip of his tea as he raised both his eyebrows as if to ask _what?_

"You can't sulk at me," Alfred said as if nothing had happened. "I brought you food."

"You brought me _sweets_," Arthur corrected.

Choosing not to comment on the word 'sweets', Alfred folded his arms, coffee cup resting in his grip on one elbow.

"Do not dis the sugar," he commanded.

"I will 'dis the sugar'. You are aware I've not had anything to eat in days, and the first thing you bring me is a snickers bar?"

There was a silence as Arthur's words hung in the space between them, the angel desperately looking as though he wished he could take them back.

"You said 'days'," he commented eventually.

The angel looked at him; gaze carefully even as he sculpted his face into apathy. "I did."

"How long had you been at Francis'?"

"Two weeks."

"Two _weeks_," Alfred gaped. "I thought he only just found you!"

Arthur shook his head, green eyes still meeting Alfred's.

"And he forgot to feed you?"

"I'm not sure that 'forgot' is the right term. He didn't feed me, except for the first time I woke up. He gave me fruit, and then after that seemed to decide that along with wings comes a lack of need for basics like food, which is only true in a very limited sense. It'd never kill me, but it certainly didn't do me any good."

Alfred gaped at him. "He gave you water though?"

The angel nodded. "In a dish."

They both looked at each other for a few long moments before Alfred turned to the passenger seat next to him, currently occupied with service station food, and rummaged about. He produced a packaged sandwich and offered it to Arthur.

"Best they do. Sorry."

Arthur looked between the food offered and Alfred's hopeful expression and the edges of his mouth curled up into a smile, wings dropping from their tense position as they draped around his shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Alfred, whatever you keep opening your mouth to say, spit it out," Arthur said with a sigh. They were driving again, the day outside the car fading into night and fellow drivers disappearing at the same pace.

Alfred opened his mouth again, snapped it shut, and then glanced quickly at Arthur in the mirror.

"Alfred," the angel warned. The blanket had been shifted to wrap around the angels bare feet, which were resting on the seat opposite him as he leaned against the window, cushioned by his wings. The restraint of having them covered had gotten to Arthur only a few minutes after they'd started off again. Alfred figured anyone that saw the wings through the window would probably just assume they were part of some costume. It wasn't a mistake you could make up close, but something a tired adult would just write off.

"How did Francis catch you?" he blurted out, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Silence met his words and dragged on long enough for Alfred to back track.

"You don't have to say, I was just wondering," he said, chewing his lip, "Stupid question, you probably don't want to talk about it-"

"Alfred, shut up."

Alfred went obediently quiet, biting the inside of his mouth a bit harder as he mentally kicked himself.

Minutes ticked by. Arthur said nothing, and Alfred didn't dare break the silence again.

"Do you think I'm beautiful, Alfred?"

He almost didn't hear the angel speak. He almost thought that he'd not spoken at all. After a few beats pause, the silent expectance in the air prompted him to reply.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

In the mirror, Arthur's face darkened with an unhappy smile. "All angels are beautiful. Where would you say angels live, Alfred?"

"Heaven?" Alfred suggested. "In the clouds?"

"Right on both accounts, though it depends on your definitions of both. We call it Heaven, though I have never seen a God there, and among the clouds but not ones that bring rain. It'll sound strange, but where I came from is as insubstantial as I was before I ended up here."

"Insubstantial?"

"You've heard of the expression 'head up in the clouds'? Keep that in mind. Angel's are made up of thoughts and feelings, rather than actual bodies. They interact like conversation or music, mixing and overlapping but not actually touching. That's why they don't all fall to earth, thoughts are lighter than air."

Alfred silently listened. Absorbed and contemplated. A world filled with beings that were made up of thoughts like the ones in his head? He supposed it made sense, in a strange sort of way. The indefinable sensation of words, sentences and ideas in his head could exist physically in a different place, for all he knew. Trying to grasp the idea was making him feel dizzy, so he trained all his concentration back to Arthur.

"Angel's can watch Earth easily. What's harder is actually coming down. It's difficult to stay here, almost painful; they can't stay long. The wayward thought or idea that you forget is an angel briefly slipping through your mind, a lodger in your own body for just a moment. It's not dangerous for you, or them, even if you feel a little disorientated once they leave. It's an unconscious favour, in some ways, a little glimpse of Earth as an angel wouldn't get to otherwise.

"After a while, most angels get bored. They pass through a conscience once every few years, in different parts of the world but most of the time are unbelievably indifferent. Curiosity is a trait of humans, not angels. They are happy with thoughts on what they know and what they can coax out of what they know, uninterested in potential. I was different.

"I loved Earth, a huge amount by angel's standards. I've been to every continent, every country, trying to see as much of it as I could in a few seconds glance. I spent the most time in England and that's where I first saw Francis. He was only holidaying, he lived in France at the time, and in England I saw him only once. But he was constantly in my thoughts and as I have told you, thoughts are all an angel is."

Alfred was very no good at reading other peoples moods, but he could feel Arthur's. The angel's voice was filled with restrained anger, an anger Alfred's gut told him was aimed inwardly. Anger and bitterness and regret, mixed in with something he couldn't identify but made him want to wrap his arms around the angel and pull him close.

"I made a conscious effort to find him. Before I'd randomly moved through minds around the globe but now I was focusing on trying to find Francis', or the ones around him. I didn't even know why I was doing it, but I persevered anyway. It took me a year because I was mainly thinking of France, and by then he'd moved to America. But I did it." Arthur's voice was trembling.

"I began spending more and more time flitting through minds on earth, ones that were around him. His friends, his family; even yours, one time. Gradually, without my notice, my time spent in Heaven and my time spent on Earth became equal. And then it started to tip out of Heaven's favour.

"My thoughts were getting heavier. Turgid, that's how I considered an angels existence. Consistent and relentless, a world of white with no colour. I found myself longing for the times I could be on Earth, miserable because I could never stay there longer than a few moments. Or so I thought, in any case. Even now I'm not sure if I'd have done anything differently if I'd known exactly to what fate I was heading. I'm not sure if I wouldn't have embraced it.

"Eventually what I should have known was inevitable happened, even though I'd never heard of it happening to another angel before. What I suppose you'd call my spirit was so full of heavy, world-ridden thoughts of what could be and physical thoughts and that bastard Francis that it was sodden with them. I'm a fallen angel; my thoughts dropped out of heaven and into a palpable form.

"It was the most painful thing I've ever lived through. Everything I was, wrenched apart at the roots and seams, slammed back together in a mess of tangibility. I wanted to throw up and rip myself open at the same time, get rid of the thoughts that were seeping away from me anyway because it'd stop me being able to feel this agony.

"And then it was over. Then it was _my_ face was pressed into the earth, not someone else's, my hands scratched and bleeding as I tore them on sticks getting to my feet. It was like visiting, but thousands of times better. My own arms and legs, head, fingers. I felt practised at this, the sensation wasn't so strange after I got used to it. The only thing that was alien was my wings, but they were fantastic. I could fly, still feel as weightless as a thought, but it was easy to slip back to earth and walk on the ground."

Quiet dry sobs filtered through his words and hovered like far away rain inside the car.

"I went looking for Francis. I thought this was the answer to everything I didn't know I'd been wishing for. I knew where he was, I knew how to get there. I thought that I'd meet him for the first time as myself, with him knowing it was me and that after that everything would have no choice but to fall into place. I flew there without resting; I didn't need to, I was running on hope and stupidity. Francis didn't need to catch me, Alfred, I went straight to him."

Alfred watched as the angels' hands came up to cradle his face, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. The car swerved, Alfred righted it, and then pulled over onto the hard shoulder. He unplugged his seat belt and, without a second thought, scrambled into the backseat to wrap his arms round the angel. Arthur leaned into his embrace and cried quietly into his shoulder.

"I fell in love with him and out of everything I'd ever had and he put me in a bird coop. Just an animal, a beautiful creature in a cage. And I can't ever go home, I can't change back. I'm not an angel anymore and I'm not human, I'm a man with wings. I can fly, but I'm grounded and I don't know what to do and, God, it _hurts_."

Alfred held him closer and felt Arthur bury his face into the side of his neck, tears soaking into his shirt. They stayed like until Arthur's exhaustion won over, and he slipped into a drained sleep. Alfred gently leant him back against the seat, and climbed back into the front as quietly as he could, then started up the car and continued the drive home.


	3. Chapter 3

The phone's demanding rings cut off as Alfred unplugged all of its wires with one tug. His mobile had been switched off hours ago, and he hadn't even bothered going online to check his emails. A feeling of isolation was beginning to creep in on him.

It was a good twelve hours after Alfred had left before Francis started calling him. Francis, and apparently everyone else that the Frenchman knew. Some of the text messages sounded faintly confused as they informed him of Francis' desperation to reach him, as if he didn't already know. Arthur had remained silent throughout all the attempts of Alfred's family and friends to contact him, green eyes speaking volumes. He expected it to only be a matter of time before Alfred gave him up now the novelty of an angel had worn off. They didn't speak as Alfred went about cutting themselves off from the rest of the world, but Arthur's surprise and relief was tangible.

The angel was sitting outside now, on the intact fire escape. Wings carefully concealed beneath the blanket from Alfred's bed, the angel watched the sky with a strangely entranced expression. They'd gotten back in the early hours of the morning, Alfred having directed Arthur up the outside stairs while he went through the inside. It was now midday, the angel having sat outside in the cold wintry air since the sky was still black, seemingly with every intention of watching the icy, empty blue sky until it was once again dark and dotted with stars.

Pushing himself up off his knees Alfred dropped the phone cord and moved to the open sliding doors, hesitating as he debated whether or not to go out. Arthur turned his head slightly to face Alfred, who recognised the consent in his gaze and grinned as he walked onto the metal floor and sat down.

"How you holding up?" he asked leaning back on his hands and tilting his face up to the sky.

Arthur turned to look at him, pausing before he responded. "Better. And yourself?"

"Having fun, actually. Feel like I'm in a movie, it's awesome."

Snorting, the angel shook his head. "You've got to be joking."

"Well, I am a bit. But whatever."

When Arthur didn't reply Alfred fell silent, rubbing his hands together absently as he looked down from the sky and at his neighbour's roofs.

"Why are you doing this? Throwing your whole life out of balance?"

Arthur's voice was tentative. Alfred looked over at him and saw that the angel hand brought his knees up to his chest and was hugging them tightly, looking at his own interlocked hands. Alfred shifted onto his knees to crawl round to be face to face with him.

"Because I think you're worth protecting," he said seriously.

Arthur looked at him over his knees, eyes so honestly sad and sceptical of this vouch for his own value that Alfred felt something inside him, at his core, twist in pained compassion.

"Because you don't deserve what Francis' did to you," he pressed earnestly, moving closer. "Because the idea of you staying in a cage is painful. Because I think that you must have been brave and determined to do what you did, even if it didn't turn out like it should have, and really passionate. Because you're incredible."

Arthur's eyes smiled faintly and Alfred felt warm despite the chill in the air, the coldness of the metal below his knees seeping through his jeans.

"I wish I'd found you," the angel whispered. Alfred blinked, still beneath Arthur's gaze and the tone of his voice. "I wish I'd found you first. I'm sorry."

Understanding nearly sent something inside Alfred dropping out of him and sinking into the ground, never to be returned; Arthur didn't think he'd be able to heal, or move on, ever be good enough.

"That's okay," he said, smiling and with a thrill he recognised the warmth Arthur could give him with a smile reflected in the angel's eyes as he drank in Alfred's grin. "Because I've found you. And I can wait."

Relief and guilt swirled in Arthur's eyes. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>The second morning, Arthur woke up first.<p>

The day they'd arrived back at Alfred's apartment had seen Francis' attempts to talk to Alfred become steadily more frantic, and had both of them more and more nervous that he would come to seek Alfred out in person. They'd arrived at the unspoken agreement not to be far from the others sight, especially when they were sleeping.

As a result, they'd both slept in Alfred's living room, Alfred on the sofa at Arthur's insistence, while the angel curled up in a chair. While Alfred fell asleep quickly- he was the sort who needed his eight hours- he slept lightly, occasionally waking up seemingly unprompted to see Arthur's vivid green eyes open and contemplating the locked door. He didn't ever wake up with the angel asleep, which made him wonder how Arthur was going to function through the day. The answer was simple; he wouldn't.

The angel dozed while Alfred was awake, and Alfred found himself flattered knowing that Arthur trusted him enough to do that. When neither was sleeping Alfred found himself a little surprised how well they got along. It would have pleased him more if it weren't for the dark spells as one or both of them remembered the threat of interruption.

Last night hadn't been any different, with Alfred briefly waking up in the small hours of the morning to see Arthur silently keeping watch, like a guardian angel in the darkness. The air of calm that Alfred thought Arthur should have had in the beginning was starting to collect around him. But none of that composure remained this morning, Alfred jerking awake to Arthur's panicked whispers.

"_Alfred, _he's here!"

"What?" Alfred sat up, glancing instinctively towards his closed front door.

"He's outside, with someone I think," Arthur replied, on his feet, wings spread out the fullest that Alfred had seen them, beating the air and jolting Arthur up and down, onto his toes and back to the soles of his feet.

Alfred swung his legs down to the floor and stood up, Arthur moving away to stand behind the sofa, wings tightening up and folding back as the angel backed up into a wall. They listened as the doorbell rang, accompanied by an incoherent shout and punctuated with a reproachful sounding voice.

"I'm not sure that's him," Alfred said softly, straining to hear.

Arthur shifted, agitated, listening intently. "You might be right," he said, sounding only marginally reassured. "Two of his friends, maybe?"

"Maybe," Alfred replied, creeping towards the door. He looked between the door and Arthur, questioning.

"Jones, I'm not fucking leaving till you open the fucking door!" the voice snapped and Alfred jerked back a step. Arthur fled to Alfred's bedroom, the room furthest from the front door, so fast Alfred only registered his disappearance as the door he'd taken closed.

"Do you want me to knock it in?"

"Gilbert, don't you dare." That voice Alfred definitely recognised, with a painful lurch- and the first had been identified as one Gilbert Beilschmidt, one of Francis' best friends.

His bedroom door slipped open a crack, revealing one unblinking green eye. "Should I open it?" Alfred asked softly.

"Your call," the angel responded quietly, gaze not leaving Alfred's face.

Alfred looked back at the door. He was fairly confident that if it came to a matter of force, he could stop them from physically taking Arthur. None the less, every instinct told him to keep the door locked and hide away with Arthur until everyone had forgotten them. But that was not a life he could live forever.

"Stay there." He waited until Arthur's door clicked shut, before he opened the front door to let his unwelcome visitors in.

* * *

><p>"Where is it?"<p>

Gilbert was the sort who could cut a frightening figure when pressed. It wasn't his pure white hair, shockingly pale skin or even the wet-blood coloured eyes that gleamed with an intelligence often belied by his behaviour. These were all physical characteristics that were present when he was drunk, or laughing, or pretending he wasn't cooing over something he thought was cute. Alfred had seen him in many of these sorts of situations, though they were in no way close. He'd seen him in the capacity of a companion because he was Francis' best friend and it was no rarity for them to meet when Alfred was visiting. But he'd never been on the receiving end of the savageness that he sometimes glimpsed.

It wouldn't be accurate to compare Gilbert to a wild cat. Some did, it's true, pointing out the scrawny, small appearance that didn't match up to his viciousness in a fight. But the truth was Gilbert was more of a wild dog. The same air of being a mangy, ferocious, flea-bitten, sharp-toothed, clawed animal, but in possession of that instinct no cat has. Pack loyalty.

"Where's 'it'?" Alfred replied, the anger lacing his tone surprising him. Normally he wasn't the sort to get angry over a simple three word sentence but then again, this was not a normal situation.

"Where is it," Gilbert repeated again, stepping forward and forcing Alfred back without even touching him or Alfred being aware of it.

"He's not an it," Alfred replied, regaining himself and folding his arms, shifting to block the doorway into the room Arthur was in. Subtlety proved, as it often did, not to be one of his strengths. Gilbert's eyes flicked to the closed off-room, and Alfred balled his fists in the crooks of his elbows.

"Alfred." With a faint, familiar start, Alfred remembered the voice that he'd recognised.

Matthew was almost as much of a polar opposite to Gilbert as it was possible to be. He excluded no air of violence, gave off a feel of somebody who knew how to take care of himself in terms of mental wellbeing rather than just literally. Alfred had known Matthew most of his life and almost all of his memories of Matthew concerned a content boy who knew exactly how to keep himself happy, and could extend this ability to those around him. Where Gilbert was loud and obnoxious- admittedly similar to how Alfred could be at times- Matthew was quiet and often, for a reason everyone struggled to label, forgettable. He rarely asked for much. This was why Alfred knew exactly why Francis had sent him. When he did ask, Alfred struggled to refuse his cousin, Francis' younger brother, anything.

"Hey Mattie," Alfred responded, anger seeping out of his tone as if his resolve was a sieve. He smiled weakly.

Smiling in a similarly despondent sort of way, Matthew closed the front door and slipped over to stand by Gilbert.

"Whatever, it, he, the thing," Gilbert said, waving his hands in a way that indicated he didn't care. "Francis' angel thing."

"He's not Francis' either," Alfred snapped.

"So you have got it?" Matthew said evenly, soft purple-blue eyes meeting Alfred's bright blue ones, a careful emotional wall constructed between them.

Alfred looked away to glare at Gilbert, not wanting to hold Matthew's gaze.

"He does," Gilbert crowed confidently. "It's in there, isn't he?" The albino man jerked his head towards the room Alfred was guarding. Pointedly, Alfred moved a little further into his line of vision.

"Alfred, what are you doing?" Matthew sighed, one hand coming up to the side of his head, eyes closing as if he was nursing a head ache. "This isn't like you."

"What isn't?" Alfred said blankly, wondering if this was a clever line of attack. If there was a question he hadn't really expected, it would be that. He'd thought it was pretty clear what he was doing, and Mattie was smarter than him.

"I've not spoken to you in days. Normally we talk all the time, but you didn't even give me any warning. Francis called me and said you'd stolen something valuable from his house, he didn't even tell me properly what it was. But he's a mess over it. I didn't really believe him, but he sent me and Gilbert here and you're acting like a thief."

"Mattie, you don't-"

"Alfred," Matthew interrupted, tone warning Alfred that his cousin's somewhat legendary temper may be about to make a rare appearance in all its passive-aggressive glory. "Tell me the truth."

"I didn't steal anything of Francis'."

Gilbert made a faint growling noise in the back of his throat that Matthew ignored. "Did you take something from his house?" Matthew said clearly, eyes penetrating Alfred's.

"Yes," Alfred replied clearly, this time able to hold his gaze. "But it isn't his."

"Alfred, if it's in his house then it's pretty obvious-"

"You're in my house, do you belong to me?"

"That's different. We're real people. "

Reeling from that comment, Alfred forgot how to retort.

"This is fucking stupid," Gilbert snapped. "You broke into Francis' place-"

"What?!"

"- Went through a hundred locks to get to it and then just shoved it in your car and made a run for it," was the snarled accusation.

Alfred looked at Matthew, praying he wouldn't be in agreement. His cousin said nothing.

"I didn't break into his house and I didn't steal anything," Alfred repeated, meeting Gilbert's furious gaze instead. With dread he recognised all the symptoms of a man itching for a fight. He squashed down the urge to give him exactly what he wanted; heroes didn't do fights like this.

"Calm down and just listen to me; Francis is a lying -"

Gilbert lunged forward so quickly that Alfred barely had time to move his arm up to block the punch aimed for his head. The force was enough to jar his arm painfully and Alfred automatically pulled it to his chest as he tensed to dodge a second blow and retaliate, Matthew agitatedly half-shouting at them both to stop.

The barest hint of a second later Alfred was made aware of the fact that Gilbert had forced him away from the door because it was thrown open with such force it slammed into the wall. A slightly longer fraction of time later saw Alfred leaning dazedly against the wall and Gilbert pinned to the floor.

Arthur was holding him to them ground, knees either side of Gilbert's torso, hands holding his wrists away from him, their faces only an inch apart. The angel's wings were stretched out to their full size, tensed like a hawk's.

"Don't you dare touch him," Arthur hissed, Gilbert too stunned to speak and Matthew making loud sounds of shock and confusion. "Don't you dare."

Alfred moved forward just as Gilbert regained his wits and threw Arthur off him, the angel still too weak after his imprisonment to put up much of a fight after the element of surprise was lost.

Getting to his feet, Arthur looked about ready to lunge at him again anyway but Alfred caught his arm and dragged him back at the same time as Matthew did the same to Gilbert.

"I said to stay put," Alfred said to Arthur, standing in front of him protectively.

"He hit you," Arthur snapped back, side stepping round Alfred to stand level with him.

"Oh my God," Matthew whispered, turning both their heads in sync. Alfred's cousin was staring at Arthur with the expression of one recently hit by lightning. "Oh my God."

Arthur looked away, his wings and arms shifting to wrap around him protectively. Silently, Alfred watched Matthew watch Arthur. Matthew's expression must be a reflection of what his own was when he first saw the angel. Shocked, awed. Entranced. Something clicked in Alfred's head.

"Francis didn't tell you exactly what he was missing, did he?"

Matthew shook his head, still staring at Arthur. "He said it was an angel, but I thought it was like an expensive statue or painting or something. You know how he collects them…"

"Dude, why would you even think that I'd take something like that? I mean, what the hell would I do with it?"

A snort interrupted Matthew's startled laugh, Gilbert shaking the now limp grip off his arm.

"I preferred you in a cage," he told Arthur maliciously.

"You knew?" Matthew asked, tone horrified, as Arthur snapped, "I'd prefer to see you in one."

"Arthur," Alfred cautioned.

"You named it?" Gilbert snickered disbelievingly.

Arthur's look could have frozen hell over. "He always had a name," Alfred said softly, tone deadly. "You didn't ever ask him for it."

Gilbert didn't reply, just pulled up his lips into a derisive smirk. He was no longer looking at Alfred, gaze firmly locked on Arthur in a way unnervingly calculating. The angel stared back at him icily, though Alfred could sense his fear.

Alfred walked in front of Arthur, forcing Gilbert to look at him again.

"You can go back to Francis and tell him that Arthur's here. And he's not going anywhere," Alfred said flatly.

"I think you'll find he is, wonder-boy," Gilbert responded evenly, rocking back on his heels and matching Alfred's gaze. "Just because the thing's got a name doesn't change the fact you stole it."

"He didn't steal me," Arthur said, voice filled with disgust. "If anything, I stole him. Stop talking like I'm not here. If you want me, come and get me."

Gilbert shoved Alfred aside, knocking him off balance. "Now that you've asked for it," he replied, smirking at his own wit.

Alfred lunged to grab Gilbert as he darted forward, but someone else got there first. The albino was pulled up short as Matthew latched onto his arm, dragging him backwards. Skirting round them quickly, Alfred moved back to stand beside Arthur.

"You're literally asking for trouble, aren't you?" he said to the angel, who didn't look at him.

"I'm not an object and I will not be treated as such," Arthur responded harshly.

"Gilbert, calm down. We need to think about this," Matthew was saying, attention split between his companion and Arthur.

"It doesn't change anything," Gilbert responded furiously, though he didn't make to break free of Matthew's grip. "You didn't see Francis- he was freaking out."

Alfred snorted and Gilbert shot him a filthy look.

Matthew looked hesitant, torn. "What do you mean?"

"He's beside himself worrying about it," Gilbert replied, jerking his head in Arthur's direction. The angel's expression was contemptuous.

"Oh was he," Arthur said softly, and Alfred felt a little unnerved at how quickly Matthew's attention switched. His cousin's expression went from worried to captivated in less time than it took for Gilbert to turn his head.

"Tell me, how was he worried?"

Gilbert did not reply, and Alfred watched as red eyes bored into green ones as Gilbert tried to guess where the question was leading.

"Was he worried about my safety?" Arthur pressed, lips pulling back over his white canines in scornful half-snarl. "Or was did he act more like I was just some statue who's value he'd lost rather than a living breathing thing? With a name that he didn't know?"

Silently, Gilbert regarded him. His previous expression of cold conviction was gone, replaced with stubbornness and a faint hint of doubt.

"Gil?" Matthew said quietly, looking for an answer where Arthur had sought to make a point.

Gilbert gave Matthew half a glance, looked briefly at Alfred and then back to the angel. He did not answer, but it didn't matter. Matthew, it seemed, had made up his mind.

Alfred felt Arthur tense next to him as Matthew took a step forward, leaving Gilbert leaning sullenly against the wall. Meeting Matthew's gaze, Alfred gave him a warning look as he continued to advance.

"Sorry," he all but breathed, though he didn't look apologetic. He wasn't looking at Alfred. "Can I…?" he trailed off, hand lifting slightly as he stared at Arthur, gaze alternating between his eyes and his wings.

Wondering what Arthur was thinking, Alfred watched him silently scrutinise Matthew. After a few long seconds of silence, Arthur nodded ever so slightly. Alfred almost missed the look Arthur gave him it was so brief, and he was attempting to decipher it even as Arthur tilted turned his face away from both him and Matthew and brought one wing round in front of him, holding it away from him like a shield. Simultaneously Alfred was reminded of a swan and a Victorian lady, hiding her face behind a fan.

When Matthew's fingers touched the soft feathers, Gilbert let out a faint and apparently unbidden hiss of displeasure that was in sync with Arthur flinching minutely. If he noticed Arthur's discomfort, Matthew didn't show it, brushing his fingers across the length of the wing. Concealed by the out stretched wing, Alfred started as he felt Arthur's fingers grab his wrist tightly.

"Wow," Matthew said, the word coming out like a sigh and something in it setting Alfred's hackles rising.

Before he could react to either Matthew or Arthur, the pressure on his wrist was gone and so was Arthur's wing, safely behind him again, Matthew's hand left hovering in space.

Feeling uneasy, Alfred wondered what was causing the sensation as he glanced at the immobile Gilbert. The albino was watching Matthew and Arthur expressionlessly. Following his gaze back to them, Alfred felt a jolt as he registered a look he couldn't identify on Matthew's face and Arthur's cold, hard expression as he looked back.

"Matthew?" Alfred said, voice sounding strange to his own ears. Matthew blinked and his hand dropped back to his side and he backed away.

"Gilbert," he said, expression faintly confused, as if he wasn't entirely sure what he'd just been doing, "We need to go."

"With or without the angel?" Gilbert said flatly, as if he no longer cared.

"Without," Matthew replied without hesitation. He was moving towards the door. "Because it wasn't here."

"What?"

"It wasn't here, you heard me. We need to go tell Francis. It must have gotten out on its own and the idiot should get over it."

Gilbert grinned faintly, looking amused. "You can do more than deceptively passive, can't you birdie?"

Matthew didn't reply, opening the front door. "I'll call you later, okay Alfred?" he said, disappearing outside without waiting for a response.

Sending Arthur a last considering look Gilbert shook his shoulders as if he was trying to dislodge something, and then followed after him.

Springing forward, Arthur closed the door quickly before turning back to Alfred, and expression of pure relief on his face.

Alfred looked between him and the closed door, feeling faintly disorientated. "Do you mind telling me what just happened?"

Arthur smiled weakly, pushing away from the door and walking past him into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"I need something to drink."


	4. Chapter 4

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked gently, watching Arthur lean against the cupboard doors.

Arthur sighed, shifting agitatedly. He moved to the counter top and pushed himself up onto the side. "Nothing."

"Oh come on. It's got to be something otherwise you wouldn't be moping."

"I am not moping."

"You are too moping."

"It's nothing important," Arthur persisted, filling the kettle with water and setting it down to boil. Automatically, Alfred picked to cups from the cupboard Arthur had moved away from.

"If it's upsetting you…"

When Arthur didn't reply, Alfred shrugged and moved to set the cups down next to him, getting out an almost empty jar of instant coffee and an until recently unused box of tea bags.

"We have all day."

"You are so stubborn."

"I'm just brilliant like that."

Apparently Arthur didn't have an eloquent enough retort for that, so for a few minutes silence lingered.

"Your cousin has… worried me."

Internally, Alfred translated the word 'worried' to 'frightened' and frowned. From what he knew of Arthur, and by this stage he knew him quite well, this was uncharacteristic.

"Why? And Gilbert isn't my cousin, Mattie-"

"I don't mean that idiot. I mean Matthew."

Alfred turned his head to look at Arthur, who was staring straight ahead. The morning's sunlight was streaming onto Alfred's face and making it hard to see, but he could imagine out the dark blur of Arthur's expression from his tight posture. He stepped out of the sun to stand opposite Arthur, voicing his confusion.

"Matthew?"

Arthur looked out of the window, wings unfurling away from his back, spreading out and the tips catching the light. Like the rest of Arthur, they were looking the strongest and healthiest they had in days. His wings had always been the most captivating part of Arthur, second only to his eyes, but now they were all the more so.

Realising his awe was probably exactly what Arthur did not want, Alfred tore his gaze away from the wings and to find Arthur's eyes. The angel had turned back to face him, his eyes a warm glow of satisfaction.

Feeling his lips turn up into an unsure smile, Alfred held his gaze as Arthur replied.

"After he touched my wings, your cousin didn't look me in the eyes again. Even when he stopped touching, he was still staring. He couldn't see past them. He couldn't see me, just like Francis. Except, to his credit I suppose, he could at least leave my wings alone…"

"I…don't understand," Alfred said softly.

"He only saw the wings. Gilbert didn't see anything at all, but Matthew just saw the wings. You…" Arthur trailed off, smiling slightly and looking awkward in a way that made Alfred want to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

"You see everything. The wings, sure, but my body, my face … Everything. You see me."

Alfred knew the smile on his face was goofy, probably only added too by the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. "That's because all of you is amazing," he replied gently.

A thought occurred, and his smile faded. "Why does that fri- worry you?"

Arthur touched one of his wings briefly, the unhappy expression Alfred had been expecting clouding his face at the same time as a burning drive to have it gone swept through Alfred.

"What… What if it's only you?" Arthur said softly, tone a mix of desperation and the need not to offend. "What if there's nobody else? What if I can't ever leave your house, even when I can fly again? There's nowhere else for me to go, and what if you're the only one who will ever see me as human?"

"It doesn't matter," Alfred said fiercely. "You can stay here, and I'll stay with you-"

"You can't just put your life on hold, Alfred, I won't let you. Without more company than me, you'll be miserable and you know it."

About to protest, Alfred was cut off as Arthur spoke again. "And Alfred, I don't want to stay here forever. I don't want this to be another prison, self-inflicted because I'm frightened of everyone outside. I-" his voice cracked. "I want to stay with you, but I want to be able to live too. We'll both wither and die if we never leave. I don't want that to happen to me, and I can't let it happen to you. But if nobody can see me past my wings, if the world reacts like Francis, what do I do?"

Arthur's eyes were dry and he was completely still; Francis' stone statue, having walked across the country to sit in Alfred's kitchen and look at him with such searching, contained helplessness.

"We'll figure it out. We will," Alfred said, too loudly in the silent kitchen.

But Arthur let out a gush of pent up air, and smiled, slightly, sadly, then slid off the counter top, displacing the stagnant air with that simple movement. "Okay."

* * *

><p>They lasted one more day before they ran out of food.<p>

Both of them ignored it till three in the afternoon. They were both in Alfred's living room, Alfred on the sofa and Arthur the chair. At least, that was the seating arrangement until Arthur picked himself up and moved to sit on the sofa next to Alfred, swinging his legs up to stretch them over Alfred's lap.

"Um," Alfred said intelligently, his only coherent thought being wondering where he was supposed to put his hands. "What?"

"I can't see from over there," Arthur said simply and Alfred didn't argue. Cautiously, he glanced at the angel, who was looking intently at the television screen, then followed his gaze, keeping his hands loosely where they were.

"Hey!" he let out an indignant yelp as the channel changed. He hadn't noticed the remote being taken from his hand.

He turned to glare at Arthur, the angel tilting his head to meet his gaze with an innocent grin. The television was now showing a part of a history documentary on some obscure topic.

"You're joking," Alfred moaned, "We're not watching _this_."

"We are, actually," Arthur said contentedly, leaning back on the arm rest comfortably.

Groaning, Alfred dropped his head back on the cushions behind him. "I hate you."

"Liar," Arthur said, but the reply was a second too hesitant, and Alfred pulled his head back up to look at Arthur, who was now focusing on the remote control in his hands. Just like that, the atmosphere went from relaxed to serious.

"So…" Alfred said slowly. "We're out of food."

"Mhm," Arthur acknowledged, pulling his legs back to sit up straight and hold his knees to his chest; Alfred found himself missing the warmth across his lap.

For a few seconds they both looked at each other. Clearly neither of them wanted to state the obvious.

"You're going to have to go out some time, Alfred," Arthur said eventually. "You'll have to go back to work eventually, you can't keep playing sick. You're life's going to catch up with you, even if Francis doesn't first."

Alfred let out a frustrated noise. "Okay. The nearest store's not that far away. It won't take long," he said, standing up. Arthur didn't say anything, watching him pull on his shoes and jacket.

"Your keys are in your room," he said when Alfred paused, looking about.

"Right," Alfred responded. He got his keys, and then stopped by the door.

"Don't drag it out, Alfred," Arthur said with a reassuring smile. "It'll be fine."

"Yeah… I know." He tried to sound convinced, for whose benefit he wasn't sure, and quickly let himself out. The door clicked locked behind him.

* * *

><p>When he let himself back inside the building an hour later, carrying three shopping bags worth of food with more left in his car, Francis was waiting for him. When he looked back on this moment, agonised over it, Alfred would wish he'd kept calm. Walked over to Francis, or waited for him to come closer, acted as if nothing was wrong and tried to talk his way out of it. Done anything but what he did.<p>

But, obviously, he did the first thing he could think of. He followed his instincts and, just like a hero on a screen fleeing from a rolling boulder, he dropped all three bags and ran.

"_Alfred!_"

One of his neighbours flattened himself against the wall as Alfred shot up the stairs, bypassing the lift with its closed doors, and taking the steps two at a time, throwing his body forwards. He was on the first floor by the time Francis had sprinted to the foot of the stairs, but the distance between them had shrunk by the time they reached the third, and then Alfred tripped, tripped over his own feet like an _idiot_, and Francis barely faltered as he caught up, choosing to half side-step and half jump over Alfred as he shakily tried to force himself upright, the palms of his hands skinned and knees throbbing.

Without thinking, Alfred stuck out an arm to grab Francis' foot as it shot past. The Frenchman crashed down, but righted himself faster than Alfred had, twisting round and kicking Alfred in the face.

Reeling, Alfred kept his grip on Francis' ankle and used it to pull himself forward, but let go reflexively and rolled to one side to avoid the next kick. Scrabbling backwards, Francis tried to both stand up and get away from Alfred simultaneously, before twisting round and starting to rise. Just on his feet, Alfred launched forward to knock the Frenchman back to the ground.

"Francis! Francis-!"

He didn't move fast enough to dodge Francis' punch, didn't want to retaliate, and in his pain and indecision was thrown back. The Frenchman was on his feet in moments, running down the corridor to Alfred's door, to where Arthur was.

Francis paused, fumbling with the key that Alfred had given him when he'd first moved, because Francis had been his _friend_, his_ cousin_, and before he could put it into the lock Alfred slammed into him, knocking him sideways. With barely time to brace himself in front of the door before Francis lurched back at him, Alfred let out a yelp of pain as his head snapped back to hit the wood of the door. For a second his mind was blank, dizzy, with one thought spiralling through it.

_Oh, God, don't let Arthur have heard._

If Arthur had heard, he'd open the door, he'd come out because he wouldn't be able to listen to Alfred get hurt while he was hiding.

The door yanked open behind him and he and Francis over balanced and went crashing towards the floor, and in the mess of hands and arms- one at his neck, two in Francis collar, gripping his arm and pulling him away- there was the powerful pulse of beating wings.

The hand at his throat dropped away as Arthur let out a purely animal snarl, white teeth flashing like a knife in the dark, and threw himself at Francis, sending the both of them into a wall. Outside in the corridor, someone was shouting, feet were thundering up the stairs.

Arthur screamed, a birds scream, more terrible than anything Alfred had ever heard because he hadn't thought any creature could make a sound like that, as a handful of white feathers were ripped away at Francis' touch. For a moment, a brief moment, Francis looked horrified, ashamed, at his grotesque vandalism of such unique art, and it was so inhumane that Alfred, on one knee, massaging his throat, flinched as he tried to stand.

Arthur, crying, stepped back. His right hand was at his injured wing, his left held alternating between violently brushing away the unintended tears of pain. He stilled, backed up outside, onto the fire escape, and balled both hands into fists.

For a heartbeat all three of them were still, Alfred watching Francis and Arthur stare at each other across the few feet of distance between them, paused in the act of pushing himself up. Arthur's green eyes flicked over to him for the barest of seconds, meeting sky blue, and in that moment Alfred knew exactly what he was going to do.

"Arthur, don't-!"

Arthur turned at the same time as Francis started forward, hands on the metal rail that he'd been pressed against, hands quickly replaced by his bare feet, and then he _jumped. _

For a terrible moment, he plummeted, dropping out of sight (out of mind). Francis shouted, something, and Alfred must have said something, and what felt like the entirety of the other occupants of the building finally reached his partly open door. It swung open to let the first of the panicked neighbours in, just a blur of white rocketed up through the empty space.

Alfred must have ran to get out onto the escape, but he wasn't aware of ever moving, of anything in the world that ever had been or would be, of anything but the sight of Arthur, his angel, soaring in the air for a wingspan of time, before he disappeared.

* * *

><p>It was dark and cold the night of Arthur's departure. The blanket on his shoulders kept him from feeling the worst of the wind, but nothing could help the chill flowing in Alfred's blood.<p>

The neighbours had been kind enough. They'd taken Francis, forcibly out of Alfred's apartment, to do who-knows-what, take him home or to a police station, Alfred didn't care. He was gone, and the rest could be dealt with when he didn't feel so empty.

He remembered eating, too, but not precisely what. The woman on the floor above him had treated him for the cuts and bruises he'd not realised that Francis had given him out in the corridor and the grazes on his palms. She'd told the couple that lived opposite he shouldn't be left on his own for too long tonight, as he'd refused to go to hospital, and had organised a rota for them to check in on him every hour. So far he hadn't spoken to any of them, except for brief, reflexive thank you's.

Alfred was aware, on some level, that he was disturbing them. They didn't know the full story after all, just that someone had followed him into the apartment building and given him these soon-to-be scars and the dark bruise languidly spreading over his eye and cheek. He had a right to be shell-shocked, but not this stunned and silent, surely. What was the motivation for his assailant, he could hear them wondering, the turning cogs in their heads almost audible to him, Alfred straining his ears as he was. Listening for the voice of one specific thought did things like that to you.

They probably thought Francis had been a runner, or something, that Alfred had shady dealings at odds with his bright smile and easy-demeanour. It could be forgiven of them, really; he wasn't acting anything like he usually did. Perhaps it was fair for his neighbours to think the Alfred they knew was a façade.

It didn't matter, anyway. No doubt that it would bother him later, when his frozen thoughts thawed out and he started to function again. But for now, nothing concerned him but the black sky outside and the fictional silhouette of white soaring across it.

Someone came in at four am, the last person due to check in on him before morning. The man asked Alfred if he thought he could get some sleep. Even as he gave his monotonous reply, Alfred didn't take his eyes off the spot where Arthur had disappeared from. The man had made an unpleased hum, doubtful and unsure as to what he could do. He'd said something, briefly, about speaking to the police again tomorrow, and gone back to his own life the floor below.

Alfred may have fallen asleep though, because at some point he became aware of the glow of morning flow slowly into the room and it didn't seem as though hours had passed in its coming.

Either he had fallen asleep, he thought, the first words to puzzle their way through his mind for hours, and woken up to morning, or he was still asleep and dreaming of the white-washed glow of oranges and pinks.

Someone was climbing the fire escape, Alfred realised as he listened to the scrape of metal against metal as the rusting structure took someone's weight. He sunk his chin onto his arms as he waited, watching the empty space.

He must have blinked, or be more tired, or dreaming than he thought, because when Arthur appeared it was almost as if he'd materialised from nowhere.

"Hi," Arthur said softly, moving forward, looking at him like Alfred was an easily startled bird that would disappear in a flutter of wings if he moved too fast or spoke too loud.

"Hi," Alfred replied, and he had to say it again because the first greeting was lost in choked relief and a sigh.

Arthur stopped just before him, and gently dropped to his knees, green eyes locked in Alfred's scrutiny. As he descended, the rush of air displaced his feathers and some were left hanging where Arthur had been, before they drifted downward.

One landed in his hair and Alfred stretched slowly, unfurling himself, to reach it. He held it before his eyes, inspecting it, before lifting his gaze up to Arthur, a slow cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"Are you moulting?"

The noise Arthur made as a mix up of amusement, disbelief and fondness. "Moulting? Really?"

Alfred grinned and let the feather go as he ran his eyes over Arthur's wings. They weren't threadbare, rather, they were like a thin veil of a skeleton, stretching out their full span, pure white and delicate. As if any movement, any choice now, could scatter them.

Tiling his head to one side in a gesture becoming familiar, Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow. Alfred stared at him.

"Arthur?" he said with low urgency.

"What?" was the alarmed response, Arthur lifting a hand to touch Alfred's cheek, searching his eyes.

"I've never realised this before- your eyebrows are _huge_."

Arthur stared. Alfred stared back at him.

When Arthur laughed, he didn't so much lighten as become infinitely more real and solid, so much closer and more touchable; it convinced Alfred that he couldn't be dreaming and that the world he saw was real. When he laughed, Arthur's shoulders shook and the rest of his feathers fell away like old dreams in the wake of something bigger, something better.

"All of heaven and earth, Alfred Jones, and I fall in love with you."

"All of heaven and earth," Alfred agreed, as they knelt before each other, white angels feathers scattered around them. "And all there is is you."

* * *

><p><em>Opening lyrics are from the song<em> Les Yeux au Ciel, _from the french film_ Les Chanson's d'Amour.


End file.
